Casual Fridays
by RainyJ.T
Summary: Maybe Elizabeth put him up to it, or maybe it was a plan for an indirect interrogation. Whatever it was, Neal didn't seem to mind. Pre-slash or slash.


**Okay, so I wasn't planning on continuing this, but I've had some ideas for other cute scenes. What do you guys think, should I make this a series of fluffy oneshots, a cute little story, or leave it as it is and have my other oneshots stand alone? I would love to hear what you think, because I am a very indecisive person, haha.**

Neal Caffrey was working diligently (really!) on the closing paperwork for a case when his head was assaulted by none other than his own loving fedora. Or, more likely, Peter Burke plopping the hat onto his head and tossing his suit jacket in his face. "I'll take casual Fridays for a thousand," Neal muttered under his breath, voice laced with confusion.

"Not a category. Come on," Peter said, already making his way towards the elevator. "You are coming to my place."

Neal rushed to catch up, readjusting his fedora and pulling on his jacket. He checked the clock; it was only 5:00. "Whatever you think I did, I am sure that it can be dealt with in a civil manner—with witnesses and security cameras."

"You're not in trouble. Wait—should you be?" Peter shook his head, waving the question away, and that was all that he said until they were trotting up the steps to the Burke's front door. "Elizabeth is gone today and anything good on TV is cancelled for the president's speech."

"Wow, I'm glad that I come before the president."

"Oh, only when he messes with my sports. Come help me get dinner ready." Peter kicked off his shoes and set his jacket on the rack, Neal doing the same, and heading into the kitchen. Neal was still slightly suspicious as he watched Peter go about his business, letting Satchmo in and refilling his water bowl before he opened the freezer and began shuffling through its contents. Peter always made it a point that Neal was not allowed in his house. It was a sacred place, in which thoughts of him were (supposedly) not to be found. That only left two options: Peter was planning an indirect interrogation (it was known to happen), or Elizabeth had put him up to it (also known to happen).

Peter pulled out a tray of frozen meat and handed it to Neal. "Open this, will you?"

Neal attempted to hide his confusion. He refrained from commenting, _what happened to Peter Burke's world famous pot roast? _He pulled the tray from its plastic cocoon, handing it back to Peter. It was then shoved into the microwave and set to cook. "Oh, now that is fine dining."

Peter snorted. "The finest. Toast these."

Neal skillfully caught the bag of hamburger buns that were lobbed at his face. What was it with Peter and throwing things at his face? He retorted, with more than a hint of sarcasm, "Ooh, seedless! Man, Peter, you've got this covered."

It was only a matter of minutes before the once frozen meat was being turned into a pulled pork sandwich lathered in a heaping amount of barbeque sauce—Not Neal's cup of tea, but he could handle it. They settled in on the couch, TV trays and all, and Peter turned on the television.

"What is this, dinner and a movie?" Neal joked, waiting for Peter to change the channel to a movie, or at least some form of entertainment. It didn't come. "Oh, no, we are not watching the news on this hot and heavy date of ours."

Another snort erupted from Peter's nostrils, "This hot date has been cancelled on account of politics."

"You really know how to make a guy feel special, Peter." Neal set his plate of food down on the TV tray in front of him and got up, flipping through the movies on the shelf. "We're lucky that Elizabeth has good taste in movies."

"No, no, we are not watching some chick flick."

"Well we are _not _watching the president ramble, either. It will be played over and over again later, anyway." There was silence for a short moment as Peter rubbed his temples and Neal pulled a movie from the shelf. "This."

"That?"

"Yes."

"Of all things, Neal, you choose that."

"Hey, I'm not the one that owns the movie. Blame the sport, not the player."

"You have that backwards."

"Potato, pot_a_to." Neal placed the disk in the tray and switched the TV to the right setting. To Peter's dismay, The Chronicles of Narnia began to play and Neal settled in next to him, maybe a little too close. But then again, maybe not.


End file.
